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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29426511">Book 1- Wake and Interdiction</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/JVMMs/pseuds/JVMMs'>JVMMs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Mercenary Blues [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elite Dangerous (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:16:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,718</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29426511</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/JVMMs/pseuds/JVMMs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The personal story of CMDR Victoria, along the highs and lows of her past, present and uncertain future.</p>
<p>- An Elite Dangerous inspired story, all rights belong to Frontier Developments</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Mercenary Blues [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2161659</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Wake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 01<br/>
Wake</p><p> </p><p>	A buzzing sound rings through the room. Not an organic one, made by an animal, but a cold, digital one made by a speaker. It ringed constantly, for what seemed like forever, echoing through the dark much like an angry insect flying in circles. A grunt is heard from under a pile of clothes and blankets, as Victoria is begrudgingly taken away from her sleep and her hand searches for a compad from its mysterious location underneath the mounts of cloth. The light from the device irritates her eyes as it shines in a pinkish glow. She presses a button and the buzzing finally stops, followed by a much more annoying sound.</p><p>– Commander Victoria! You were expected one hour ago! – A woman shouts from the recently opened door to the hotel room, the light behind her revealing piles of take-out boxes and empty bottles.<br/>
– Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’ll be there.<br/>
– Commander! This is the reason the Baris Party refuses to give your better contracts. Your lack of etiquette and commitment is insulting.<br/>
– We already signed a contract and the cargo is already on my ship, so you will have to wait for me anyway. So, why don’t you go away and come back in, like, four hours? Maybe more.<br/>
– Commander, I will remind you it is within the Baris Party’s powers to rescind your contract, and inquire you fines for your failure of delivery.</p><p>	Victoria’s head sinks into the pillow. Her head pulses from the endeavours of the previous night, and this woman’s nasalized voice makes everything worse. She almost wishes the buzzing was back instead.</p><p>– Fine – Her voice is heard muffled from the pillow – I will be there in a moment.</p><p>	The woman squints her eyes at the half-asleep Commander but turns around and the leaves the room, the door sliding close behind her. Back in the dark, Victoria considers if this contract is even really worth it. Wouldn’t returning to a peaceful sleep be better? But now her head hurts so much, sleeping seems impossible.<br/>
Reluctantly, she pushes the blankets away and stands up from the cold floor – the room was so cheap, it didn’t even have a proper bed. She steps into the shower after ordering another take-out order through her compad. A few minutes after being under a stream of cold water, she finds her meal already waiting at the door, neatly packed in an air-tight container and magnetized to the floor. A cheese sandwich with unhealthy amounts of mayonnaise, an extra-large bottle of water and vitamin pills. The only things that help her through a hangover. Still only wearing a towel, she sits at the toilet – the only seat in the room – to eat her meal without caring much about dripping sauce on the floor.<br/>
Victoria looked around the small room, dismayed. A space less than three by three meters, including the bathroom, with a low roof that almost hit her head. It was made of plates of metal with no decoration or painting, except for one covered by a large ‘window’ that was, in fact, a cheap monitor displaying a live feed the void of space outside. It definitely was not an uplifting view.<br/>
Her headache pulsed with every difficult revolution of the air ventilation system, but the old machine couldn’t rid the room of the stale air or clean the smell of the previous night alcohol and today’s mayo. This is the second cheapest room possible in the space station. The worst option is a person-sized coffin mounted to a wall along dozens of others like a bee-hive, and as tight on credits as Victoria was, the worst option was definitely not an option.<br/>
After licking the last drips of cheese and sauce from her fingers, she quickly threw the blankets that formed the bed to the corner, throwing her shortlist of belongings around. A Remlok void-safe suit for pilots. Boots, pants and a jacket that went over them. A personal compad, a magnetic revolver and a half-smoked pack of cigarettes. And that was it. There wasn’t a point in carrying more around than needed. She left the dirty boxes of food and empty bottles to whatever poor underpaid soul had to clean that.<br/>
The Commander opened the door to leave but stopped as the lights outside her room caused her headache to amplify. An octagonal-shaped corridor made of similar metal plates. Pipes and cables neatly running along the roof bolted to their positions. Similar black sliding doors leading to similar rooms, all neatly numbered and identified. Orange lights on the ceiling, walls and floor gave the corridor an industrial look. No expenses made to make this section of the station look pretty or interesting, and any writings or monitors were entirely descriptive and made to direct you to your location. Again, the opposite of uplifting and once more she wished she could instead just go back to sleep.<br/>
Victoria made her steps through the similar-looking corridors, going through doors and connections. If it wasn’t for the compad directing her, she would most likely end up lost. She reaches an end and presses a button to call the elevator. It stops and opens without making almost any sound, and the few people inside merely acknowledge her existence with a look before returning to their own compads or voice calls. The elevator made its ride upwards towards the centre of the station, making several stops along the way as people come in and out. She could hear her destination a number of floors before she arrived: The docks.<br/>
The doors opened to a large open space, crowded with people and machines. The roof on this level was high, giving space for large cargo containers to be moved around. A small  suspended pathway looked over multiple roads and conveyor belts moving cargo and equipment. The place smelled of sweat and oil.<br/>
On the pathways to her right, a good amount of booths and store fronts were opened offering food, rest, small goods, legal services, and whatever else was needed by passengers and ship pilots of all kinds, to which Victoria walked past, ignoring all the vendors calls for her attention in an attempt of selling their wares. On the far left, large numbered walls dominating the hangars where ships of all sizes were stored. She navigates the faceless crowd, eventually going down the stairs to the main level and heading to the access to hangar 33 where her ship was docked. Just before it, she sees the same woman from before waiting for her beside a man in a formal suit. This was not going to be enjoyable.</p><p>– There she is, sir. This is Co–<br/>
– Commander Victoria. You are late. Our needs won’t wait for lazy pilots. – The man interrupts her in a way only someone in a superior position can. Somehow, his voice sounds even more annoying than hers. Snobbish.<br/>
– Yeah, well, you’ve already waited for me. And its far beneath you to come down here to tell me that. So either you’re going to call me off and we will have to go through all the process of unloading the ship or you’re about to tell me some detail of the contract has changed. Either way, get on with it. – Victoria talks abruptly, ignoring any form of politeness. Her head hurts too much to appease to faction politicians.<br/>
– Remarkably rude. The location for the delivery has changed. You will deliver the cargo to the 18 Scorpii system instead, Bolger Gateway. And after you’ve delivered the package, we want you to make an additional task for us.<br/>
– What is it?<br/>
– There is a certain troublemaking pilot. Get rid of them.</p><p>	An assassination mission. How lovely. Explains the suit going all the way here to the docks to say it in person. – Fine. Send me the details. – It's not like killing someone was new for her.</p><p> </p><p>                                                                                                                        ---</p><p> </p><p>	Victoria moved her hands across the holographic interface, her fingers swiftly checking boxes and clicking buttons. She wasn’t actually touching anything, the panel is just a projection of light, but sensors on her gloves tracked the position of her fingers and informing the computer when a press is performed. Lightweight, natural, clean, and very customizable; this holographic interface was worth every credit.<br/>
The last presses confirmed that the cargo had been delivered, and she had already inspected the bays earlier to make sure everything on her ship was in order. Bolger Gateway’s loading and unloading system are mostly automated, cranes with long robotic arms attached to the hangar’s walls and ceiling could move dozens of cargo containers a minute without fail.<br/>
A message appeared on her interface: Baris Party had confirmed the delivery of 70 tons of Power Generators, and the credits were transferred to Victoria’s account. Only a few dozen thousand. Not much, but at least she profited over the fuel costs. She rested her back against the chair.<br/>
Cold, old synthetic leather gave in to her pressure. She could feel the hard edges of the seat’s structure under them. A physical throttle and stick in her hands with decades of use, which are now starting to fail every-so-often. Loose cable running across the deck getting in the way of her feet now and again. A fan loudly spinning, trying to clear the air of the smoke from her cigarette. The compartment features multiple buttons and open panels with exposed wiring and electronics. She moved her hand across the metal dash, which is covered in scratches and bruises. Some were from her time with the ship, but most were from way before.<br/>
This ship was old, if not ancient, passed down from who knows how many previous owners. Victoria sold her old tiny ship and everything she had to afford it, and that seat was her favourite place on the galaxy. She could tune out the station outside her, ships coming, docking, undocking and going, the people with their busy lives and just… Sit there. Where things were simple. It was just her and her ship.<br/>
Another message appeared on the interface: Refuelling Complete.<br/>
She breathed deeply and adjusted her posture. With a couple of button presses, her Remlok suit was attached to the ship, to restrain her and keep her to her seat no matter how much the ship turned or accelerated. Things would be getting hectic soon.<br/>
– Station Control, this is Juliet-Victor-Mike, Broadsword, requesting egress clearance – she said out loud while holding a button on her console.<br/>
– Understood. Docking clamps released, you’re free from the landing pad Commander. Follow the greens on your way out. – sounded the response from the station flight controller.</p><p>	Loud thunks could be heard as the landing gear was released from the pad. The ship slowly flew upward as its manoeuvring thrusters put it into motion and pointed the vessel towards the exit.<br/>
The station is built like a large cylinder, rotating to generate gravity. It is surrounded by many levels, going outward like layers, each a floor of the station. The inner-most floor was a large pressurized open space with over 40 landing pads of multiple sizes for ships. Going from the rotational gravity to the free floatiness of none at the middle point of the station always gave Victoria a strange feeling of vertigo.<br/>
On one of the cylinders ‘lids,’ there was a slit, small in proportion to the station, that connected it to the outside. A force field kept the pressurized air inside, while ships crossed it to enter and leave the station. It was kindly nicknamed ‘mailslot’ by pilots due to its shape. She waited as a large ship crossed the mailslot. It was one of those new luxury cruise-liners formed by smooth curved lines and large windows for wealthy lounges and cabins. ‘Saud Krugger Orca-class’, her instruments panel told her as she inspected the ship. The enormous canopy was an obvious target, she thought, and it built more like a piece of art than a spaceship. Typical imperial style – too exuberant for her liking.<br/>
Broadsword’s main engines let out a rumbling roar as she accelerated out of the station, crossing to the empty void of space. As she took distance from the station, she navigated her panels to plot her destination… LR Hydrae, a K-type star about a hundred light-years away. Will take her a couple jumps to get there, but that’s fine… This shouldn’t be rushed.</p><p> </p><p>                                                                                                                        ---</p><p> </p><p>	Victoria sits idly, her eyes tracking the other ships lazily flying around the navigation beacon. The beacon was a small automated drone that orbited the star, passively collecting data from the system and from ships as they came and went.<br/>
Like her, other pilots were orbiting the beacon, waiting on information to arrive or to meet with another pilot or ship. She quietly observed the plasma plume of the other ships as they came and went. Traders waiting on stock exchange changes to sell and buy their cargo, couriers expecting critical information, scientists downloading the latest readings from the beacon, or just random pilots wanting to download the latest episode from their video novels as soon as it arrives.<br/>
But Victoria wasn’t here for any of these reasons. Every ship has a very specific signature, a unique combination of fluctuations of its Frame Shift Drive, engine profile, frame composition, and other aspects that one can use to identify a ship from another that on the surface looks identical. And the Boris Party had sent her the signature of her target. It’s likely the ship is in this system, according to her contractor, and if so the beacon would have picked up its trail and recorded it.<br/>
She watches the drive plumes of the other ships around, observing their silent dance. She always enjoyed watching ships flying in silence, and recalled a time she would play games with herself trying to guess each ship model based on its trail. A wing of Federal Assault Ships draws her attention. Aside from system security, it's rare to see these grouped up like this. All members of the same group, Scorpion Tail. She wonders if they’re getting ready for a wing contract or to stir up trouble, but her thoughts are interrupted by the ship’s computer telling that the data has been downloaded and processed.<br/>
She takes hold of the stick and points Broadsword away. The ship hums as the Frame Shift Drive engages and accelerates to super-luminal speeds. In super-cruise, a ship can reach speeds dozens or hundreds of times higher than the speed of light making the journey across a solar system a matter of minutes. Panels lit up in front of her as the ship’s scanner interface activated, and she searched for the last know locations of her target.</p><p>– There you are… A low wake signal, twelve thousand light-seconds away. You’re quite far, friend, what are you up to?</p><p>	Victoria talks to herself while making way to her new destination. She continues to mumble while checking all weapon systems. All weapons prepared and ready, shields at maximum. Opening the signal again, she runs the signature it through the databank to try to identify the target. A Vulture. She has seen a few of them in action before. Extremely agile and often carry a pair of large weapons, she saw a wing of them chew through ships much larger with ease. But she doubted it would be a match against Broadsword. Her ship was over twice the size of a Vulture, three times better armed, and her target was alone.<br/>
She closed her eyes as she flew across the system, leaving stars and planet behind at a staggering speed. Her hands rest lightly over the controls as she flexes her fingers. She feels tense, as much as she tries to hide it from herself. There wasn’t any point thinking much of it. She was hired to do it and she would do it. She didn’t have any problems killing someone. But doing it for some company or government she didn’t care about, doing it in the name of a person she would never see again… It gave the sour taste of being used as a tool. Her hands moved to the cigarette pouch, but it was too late. She had arrived.<br/>
Her right-hand grips the stick as the left moves the throttle forward. Broadsword's engines growl in response as if letting out a war cry. With a button, panels on top and bellow the ship unfold and five weapons are brought to light as the hardpoints are deployed. It was easy to find the target, flying slowly and alone. Broadsword lines up with its prey and as Victoria presses the trigger, a torrent of bullets fly towards the unsuspecting Vulture as the multi-cannons roar. The target immediately responds, engaging its thrusters and trying to leave the larger ship’s line of fire. It doesn’t fly long before two missiles lock into it and explode on its shields, reducing their integrity considerably. The Vulture turns in a hairpin, a manoeuvre only a very agile ship like it could do and begins hailing laser fire at its opponent.<br/>
However, no matter how much the smaller ship struggles, it’s very easy to see that the battle is one-sided. Broadsword simply has too many shields, more advanced armour, and much more firepower than the enemy Vulture. The target’s ship shields fail, and then its armour begins to be shredded hit by hit. 85%. 60%. 40%.</p><p>– Come on, you’re dead already. Brave of you to not try to run away, I will give you that. Now– Victoria's thoughts are interrupted by alarms from her ship. Three new signatures dropped behind her. Three Federal Assault Ships, all laying their firepower on Victoria’s ship.</p><p>	She checks the Vulture’s identification. ‘Scorpion Tail Squadron’. Same she saw on the Assault Ships back at the beacon. How stupid of her. Should have looked at that before anything else. The ships speak something on open comms, but she ignores. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter now. Just gotta blow up the Vulture and run away.<br/>
Victoria pushes Broadsword to its limits, boosting her engines for maximum speed and velocity. Each turn, acceleration and roll is like being tossed around in a carnival ride turned to 11. The Assault Ships give chase, deploying their deadly mix of weapons against her.<br/>
‘Shields offline. Taking damage.’ – her ship voice assistant says in a monotone voice. Victoria persists, trying to follow the small ship, now being more elusive than ever. She flies and twists Broadsword amid hellfire. Her targeting still locked to the Vulture.<br/>
37%.<br/>
She can hear the thumps of bullets hitting her ship hull, lasers melting armour and internal components failing.<br/>
21%.<br/>
‘Warning. Canopy compromised.’ – the voice assistant says, as grim cracks appear around the glasses of her cockpit. Victoria’s Remlok suit automatically deploys a helmet around her head.<br/>
14%.<br/>
‘Warning. Canopy criti-’ – the sound is cut as the canopy shatters into shards, blown away into space by the air pressure escaping. Her targeting display switches to her helmet, as she keeps track of the Vulture.<br/>
8%.<br/>
She regains missile lock on the Vulture and fires just as an Assault Ship manoeuvres directly in front of her. Its guns fire with rounds exploding all over and entering the exposed canopy. Victoria feels the explosions around her through the vibrations of her ship and cockpit being torn apart. She sees just a flash before a piece of debris from her own dash flies towards her face.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Against the Truth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 02<br/>
Against the truth</p><p> </p><p>	Victoria slowly came to her senses. She was laying flat in a cold, inclined surface. Her arms and legs were spread over the slate, and her wrists and ankles were tightly bound. She tried wriggling herself free and was immediately reminded of a pain in her back and her ribs. Either way, it was useless: the binds adjusted to her movements and remained firm. At least they weren’t uncomfortably tight. She blinked many times, confused by her blindness until she realized the room was in complete darkness.</p><p>- Hey! Where am I? What’s going on here?</p><p>	Her voice echoed through the air, dry and crackling. From some screen not far in front of her dim orange letters appeared:</p><p>	<tt>Prisoner 62706 Miranda</tt><br/>
<tt>Charges: Desertion, Assault and Battery of ranking officer.</tt><br/>
<tt>Status: On pre-emptive hold.</tt></p><p>	Right. That. As she regained her conscience, the memories started coming back. She breathed deeply. What kind of situation she was in now? Actually, where was this place anyway?<br/>
As much as she tried to pull on the restraints to see around, there was nothing to see but the table she was laying on. Wherever she was, by the way her voiced echoed, this room was big. It is doubtful they would waste this much space in a station. Moreover, it had a comfortable gravity so it’s likely she was still on the planet. Or perhaps another planet. The temperature was cold but not much so and the air smelt of industrial air-cleaners and the hospital-like smell of old life-support systems. Overall, it was an improvement over the jungle.<br/>
She stretched her neck and tried to spit. Her dry mouth refused to comply. It took a couple moments, biting on her collar, to stimulate her gums to produce saliva. She tried again, and a small drop flew from her mouth and down into the darkness. Splat, came the sound many seconds later, informing she was somewhere way high. Even if she got rid of the bounds, getting down from there without breaking a bone would be impossible.<br/>
Even if she could climb out, where would she go? After what happened, there was no place left for her. Her home was empty. Her duty was a farse. Defeated, Victoria rested her head on the table. In her mind’s eye, several faces passed by.</p><p>	<i>He had a cocky smile, showing off white teeth like he was having the time of his life. Then, another bang, and his head disappeared, leaving only a red mist of blood in the air.</i></p><p>	Slowly, she allowed herself to breathe. To relax her tense body, armed like a spring and ready to react for so long. Tears began to roll from her eyes. She sobbed quietly. It was time to let go. It was over now.</p><p>	<i>That was it.</i></p><p> </p><p>	-</p><p> </p><p>	She couldn’t tell when she fell asleep, or when she woke up. She couldn’t tell how many times it happened either, nor how long had passed. In the complete darkness, there was no way to count the hours passing. However, as more and more she waited, more her mood went sour.<br/>
Even in this place that seemed removed from reality, there were small annoyances all around her. For one, her limbs were going sore from being stuck in the same positions. There was a specific spot on her back that was itching, and she couldn’t do anything about it. The ventilation system had a misaligned fan that made a loud thunk at random intervals, as loud as a thunder in the quiet room.<br/>
The jumpsuit she seemed to be wearing wasn’t the most uncomfortable one, but inside it there was an apparatus like a vacuum diaper to collect her waste which was extremely embarrassing and unnatural. She couldn’t even be glad that no one was watching her, because she was sure there was a camera somewhere in the dark staring at her constantly.<br/>
Her own company was also miserable, events of the past days repeating on her mind like a movie she couldn’t turn off. For hours and hours, there was nothing to distract her from her intrusive thoughts and memories. Like she was reliving it all again. But the worst was when the distraction did come when the monitor beeped, flashing words in the same orange colours:</p><p>	<tt>Prisoner 62706 Miranda</tt><br/>
<tt>Initiating nourishment procedure</tt></p><p>	A tube from somewhere behind would coil out and extend over her face, pointed towards her mouth. It then spewed a slurry paste with the consistency of warm vomit. She could feel her face covered in dry remains of the paste from when the tube first spurted out food while she was sleeping, with no way to clean herself, restrained as she was. It was annoying, disturbing and disgusting. But what really was making her angry was that the tube apparently only had one option on the menu: chicken. And Victoria hated chicken.<br/>
She thought of a long and creative chain of insults, directed at the machine, the machine’s inventor and the inventor’s parents, but as she was starting to put them in words, she heard footsteps coming from far below her.<br/>
Two pairs of steps, in heavy boots, walking rhythmically down a line. Guards on patrol, maybe? Perhaps technicians in magnetic boots. It could be Santa and his elf servant, for all she knew. But whoever it was, Victoria was tired tired of waiting in darkness, tired of the restraints, tired of herself and tired of chicken vomit slurry.</p><p>- Hey! Hey, over here! Can I know when I’m getting out of here?</p><p>	The footsteps stop.</p><p>- I’m Staff Sergeant Victoria, 4th Battalion, 28th Marines, Federal Navy.</p><p>	The footsteps started walking again. She could hear them going distant, the sound of each step fading away.</p><p>- Come on, come back here! Gimme an answer dammit!</p><p>	But it was useless. The footsteps were gone, and she was alone again. </p><p> </p><p>	-</p><p> </p><p>	Her eyes opened, startled. She still couldn’t see anything, but her entire bed started to shake. She could feel she was going down. Her mind struggled to wake up, her whole self numb from the past time in the dark. The monitor in front of her lit up:</p><p>	<tt>Prisoner 62706 Miranda</tt><br/>
<tt>Standby for provisional release</tt></p><p>	The monitor spoke with a robotic accent, and soon enough Victoria could feel the entire surface she was on rumble as it descended. Or at least she felt she was descending, as there wasn’t anything around her to be a reference. Eventually, she started seeing a light coming from under, but she couldn’t move her head far enough to observe it.<br/>
The pillar reached ground level, and Victoria’s uncomfortable bed pivoted to place her in a standing position. A pair of long and thin robotic arms emerged from the floor and attached themselves to her restraints as the shackles on the slate opened. She was freed from the bed, at last, but now stuck to these arms which seemed to be built on a sort of rail embedded on the floor. Flanking the rail, dim lights guided her way ahead. Before Victoria could take a course of her own, her restraints began to move along the rail, pulling her forward.<br/>
Her bare feet made no noise as they moved across the room at an uneven pace. Her body was still sore and any painkillers her implants gave her have long lost their effect. Every step made her ribs flare with jolts of pain. Still, Victoria didn’t dare to slow down, as the rail system wasn’t slowing either. It seemed determined enough to make her move even if it had to drag her across the floor.<br/>
As she moved, she could see the vague shapes of other pillars going up, possibly to other slates like the one she had, with other prisoners. She wondered how they couldn’t hear her, and she couldn’t hear them, if they were all in this large chamber. Perhaps she was the only prisoner of this facility? The rail stopped for half a second in front of a door that only revealed itself as such when the solid wall in front of her opened way. The rail pulled her inside a small room, with the door-wall closing behind her and another opening ahead, like an airlock system. A bright light blinded her.<br/>
Unceremoniously, two very bulky soldiers flanked her, while a third began detaching her restraints from the rail. Her wrists were still stuck to each other like in handcuffs, and her ankles the same way, but at least she was freed from her hellish ride. She looked at the soldiers only to see black helmets covering their faces in a smooth semblance, which reflected her own image. With no bathing or washing, and wearing a horrible red jumpsuit, Victoria looked as bad as her ribs felt.</p><p>– Staff Sergeant Miranda. I’m First Lieutenant Richard Simon. I will be your defence counsel for your trial. - A good looking man introduced himself, as Victoria’s eyes accustomed to the light. He had a perfectly kept short beard, well-groomed hair and wearing a well-pruned military uniform, the special kind used for special occasions. The soldiers pushed Victoria, forcing her to move. The First Lieutenant continued talking, walking beside her.</p><p>– Now, your best option is to plead that you acted on a lapse of judgement. Based on the recordings of your vitals during your last deployment, shortly before the events, and on the recent happenings on your family, I believe we can convince the judge –</p><p>	The first lieutenant continued to talk. Talk about her options, what she had to say to the court. How she had to act. When to sit, when to stand, when to speak, how to speak. What not to say, what to emphasize. How to read the judge had a specific tell. He continued to talk on and on.<br/>
Victoria looked around, observing the route they were taking. It was the first things she could observe after long staring at nothing but blackness. The room she first arrived in was covered in black metal panels like the floor of her holding chamber, but well lit by lights from all sides. She could see other closed doors, which she guessed lead to other holding chambers. It continued into a long corridor that they travelled through, flanked by walls of transparent aluminium displaying small individual cells. 	Most were empty. The few prisoners showed no sign of reaction as they passed by, making Victoria believe the windows were one-way.<br/>
Every ten meters there were security cameras, with automatic machine guns hanging from the ceiling. Twice on her path she saw other soldiers on patrolling duty, who stopped by for them to cross. Finally at the end of the corridor, some kind of control room where a team of soldiers monitored the prisoners with multiple screens displaying the feed from the cameras, as well as multiple controls and settings. They probably were watching her all that time, too. The thought gave her a shiver, even if it was something she already expected. Behind them, three elevator doors, all flanked by more soldiers. Everything covered in black metal and illuminated by white lights and red undertones. Oppressing, practical, intimidating. Just the way the Federation likes it.<br/>
As they entered one of the elevators, Victoria turned her attention to her defence counsel. He was still talking. He was well-spoken, never stuttered or was lost for words, every phrase delivered with precision and care on a steady, never-ending rhythm. He seemed to knew what he was talking about, and seemed to know well the other members of the court. His attention to his speech and his duty was matched by the care to his uniform. Perfectly groomed, not a single hair or crease to be seen, the silvery metallic labels all polished and glistening.<br/>
And he was still talking. A constant, endless stream of words. Victoria had nothing against him, really. He was probably a really good defence counsel. Possibly a good person too. But she was just tired. Of his voice. Of this facility. Of the soldiers. Of the pain on her ribs. Of chicken-flavoured vomit slurry. Of everything.</p><p>– -so make sure to let me talk, you just have to look the part, ok? Any questions? – The First Lieutenant asked.<br/>
– No.<br/>
– Not one? It is all clear?<br/>
– Yeah, I got it all.<br/>
– Very well. Let’s go win this trial.</p><p>	The doors of the elevator opened to a much nicer corridor, lit in a comforting tone and flanked by wooden panels. The wood was probably artificial but still looked nice. They followed the corridor and passed several closed metallic doors, a few other military staff members giving them a wide berth as they moved. Her escort finally stopped at a door, no different from the others, except it was flanked by soldiers. The door slid open as they approached in an almost silent woosh.<br/>
The room after was spacious, with walls of the same wooden panels, and a high ceiling where lamps and silent air circulation units were installed. Inside the room, rows of simple metal chairs were laid, before two tables set side by side. On the opposing side, a larger table rested. On the rows of chairs, there were some people sited. Not many. Victoria recognized maybe one or two faces she served with before, but most were unknowns.<br/>
First Lieutenant Simon led her to behind one of the front tables, where they stood. That was the defence table. On her right, she could see another officer behind the other table, the trial counsel – another member of the judge corps she never met before, but this one was trying to convince her of a guilty charge.<br/>
Finally, on the opposing table, was the jury. A fairly old man with the stars of a Rear Admiral was reading on a compad, while flanked by other high officers of a lower rank. He lowered his device and looked at Richard.</p><p>– Shall we begin?<br/>
– The defence counsel is ready, your honour.<br/>
– The trial counsel is ready, your honour. – Promptly said the man at the other table.<br/>
– Very well. This begins the court of Staff Sergeant Victoria Miranda. The Staff Sergeant is on trial for the charges of disrespect, assault to a commanding officer and desertion. How does the defendant respond do these charges?<br/>
– Guilty.</p><p>	Victoria’s answer came out of her mouth before Simon could speak for her, letting him astonished in silence. It wasn’t only him, as the trial counsel stopped midway through his motion of sitting down, and the judge also seemed speechless for a moment. But she was tired. And at this point, she didn’t care.</p><p>– Guilty? Then what is the point of this trial, Staff Sergeant?<br/>
– I don’t know, possibly so you fuckers could wave around and pretend to be relevant or something. Come on, let’s get this shit done with. I declare myself guilty.</p>
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